


Kindling and Thistle

by momoe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Porn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 10:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19149547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momoe/pseuds/momoe
Summary: Acacia has had everything taken from her. Once the heir of the Murk, she's now living as a bastard in the Riverlands. Septon Ray offers her a simple life, one she readily accepts, ready to distance herself from sellswording. Then Sandor Clegane begins to complicate things. She's not supposed to feel things anymore, especially for someone like him.





	Kindling and Thistle

“I’ve seen men die from much less, we both have. Surely it would be better to give him the gift of mercy.“ Septon Ray cut her off with a shake of his head, silencing her instantly without so much taking his eyes off the man. A big man, maybe the biggest she had ever seen with nasty scars on the side of his face. The hound, she realized. They’d barely managed to get him onto the wagon. “You ride in the back with him.” Ray began as he clambered up into the wagon, the old wood groaning under the weight. A huff escaped her lips, but she did as he said and situated herself next to the smelly man. Acacia eyed him with an intrepid gaze, watching as he moaned and writhed in pain. He didn’t seem entirely lucid, the delirium of fever having fogged his consciousness. Perhaps fortunate for him, Acacia couldn’t fathom what kind of pain he must be enduring. 

Every bump and dip along the road brought him pain, Acacia could see that in the way his brow twisted, and how he raised his hand grasping for nothing. Unable to bare the sight any longer, she relented and took his hand into hers. “Won’t be long now.” Acacia said unsure if he could even hear her. Be it death or relief, she couldn’t say. 

“Help me get him out of this armour.” Ray ordered. Acacia did as she was bid and hastily unlaced the straps of the gorget and then the paldrens to unburden him of the heavy pieces. Each were tossed aside carelessly, they’d been fine pieces once, but had since seen better days. “This man…” She began, choosing her words carefully lest she reveal too much about herself. “This is the hound, the Lannister’s dog. He’s dangerous-“ She urged, but once more, Septon Ray didn’t let her finish, and Acacia’s mouth snapped shut. 

“Not a one of us in this tent haven’t killed.” The young woman frowned at that. “You made a promise, remember?” She certainly hadn’t forgotten. But as she gazed down at the man on the cot she couldn’t help but fear what might transpire should he recognize her. 

“What about the villagers? It would be better just to kill him now.” Acacia said, deciding changing her trajectory might be best. 

“We’ll do what we can for him. It’s up to the gods whether he lives or dies.” 

A quick survey of his body told her they’d be in for a long night, and she reared back for a moment to pile wild carob curls up and tie them with a strip of leather. 

“I wonder how long he was there…” she said absentmindedly while she took a wet rag to his filthy hide. 

“From the looks of it I’d bet at least a couple of days.” She had to submerge the cloth and wring it out several times to get the most of the blood and dirt off of him. He was still absolutely covered in grime and filth of his own making, but that was the least of their worries right now. 

Septon Ray made careful work of his leg, the worst of his injuries. The bone jutted out, and the smell coming from in was rotten and putrid. The septon sliced it open like a pig to allow for the infection to ooze out, the ill sliced away. It was difficult even for her to look at, and she’d seen quite a lot. While less worrisome, the wound on his neck was festered and in need of tending to. It looked vaguely like a bite, and some shotty sewing had been done to it. She wondered if he’d done it himself. The man had hardly so much as grimaced when she removed the stitches from fetid flesh, nor had he grimaced when she sliced away the rotten bits, but the moment she took the flat side of a searing red knife to it, he’d knocked her flat on her ass. 

“Some help in here!” septon Ray barked loudly. Declan and Russ filtered in. Boy’s green they were, they faltered as their gazes flickered over the affliction that lay on the cot. “Go on!” she hissed, jerking her head in his direction. The boys did their best to hold him down, and once more she brought the red hot blade to his neck. They all flinched when metal sizzled against flesh, that awful smell permeating their senses. 

The wounds to his palms weren’t as bad as the rest, but they were deep and required stitching. This was something Acacia wasn’t skilled at, but she took a needle and thread to it regardless. 

Acacia was amazed at the amount of strength he managed in such a fevered state, she could only imagine the terror he could inflict when he was right. It made her hope they weren’t making a dreadful mistake bringing him here...

It was nearly sunup by the time they were finished with him. “You’ll watch over him.” Ray said as he wiped his hands on a cloth. 

“Why me?” Acacia bristled, not liking the prospect on bit. 

“You should see this through.” he said, gentle hand clamping over her shoulder. Acacia couldn’t help but feel as if he were punishing her in some way, tasking her with watching over the man she wished to kill. And yet she did, albeit begrudgingly, reasoning with herself that the other women would be frightened of him. 

Acacia stayed at his cot side that night, and for many nights to follow. He’d survived this long, despite all odds, and for the nights that followed she found herself unwilling to take her eyes off the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

The fever that held his body was strong. Ever so often she would gingerly take a cool rag to his face and neck. Other times she would change the cloth wrapped around his wounds and pack them with fresh paste made of herbs. Acacia wasn’t sure what was in it, but it was supposed to help with the pain and infection. He slept for long periods of time, but whenever he woke she would urge a skin of water to his lips, and he always gulped at it greedily. 

“Easy, you’ll make yourself retch.” she’d had to tell him more than once. .

Day after day she’d spent cleaning his wounds and redressing them. The wound on his leg had to be drained of purulence daily. It reeked of rot and was green with infection, but Acacia carried on despite believing he wouldn’t make it. 

“Kill me.” he’d begged in the beginning, and had it not been for Ray she would have gladly given him a quick death. 

Other time’s she’d fed him broth, chiding him just the same when he gulped at it greedily. His strength was returning, and some nights she contemplated smothering him as he rested. 

So very wrong she’d been, and he’d pulled through. It elicited a strange sense of guilt that she didn’t quite understand. What plagued her the most was the “why”. The why, and how the fuck did the lap dog of the Lannister’s end up this far north. She also worried over what it took to take a man like the hound down and leave him in such a way. What plagued her more, was what ill he might bring them. Many moons had passed, so many she’d lost count. 

These things mulled around in her head as she trudged through the woods, searching for any signs of game. It was a good day for hunting, the smell of rain hung heavy in the air, and the animals sought higher ground. By the looks of the sun, it was just after midday, and she’d already managed a string of rabbit and squirrel. Root vegetables were abundant at the stead, but meat was a delicacy. 

On days like this, when the air was sticky with humidity, she was reminded of the neck, and it made her yearn for the castle in the Murk. Amongst her thoughts, she’d plopped down on a fallen tree and let her thoughts drift to things she’d long ignored. From the leather pouch at her hip, she procured a broach in the likeness of a kelpie. Her fingers traced over the intricate detailing and her eyes fluttered shut. She could picture it perfectly. The smell of the salt water drifting off the sea, the way the sticky air made her hair frizz, how the marsh looked from the balcony when the sun fell low. Acacia missed it. She also missed that way her father would watch on proudly as she trained. She even missed the pestering of her mother. All things she once took for granted Acacia now wanted more than anything in all the seven kingdoms. But there no longer remained anything in that castle worth yearning for. Just walls built of stones with strangers walking the halls. 

For some time Acacia sat on that rotten stump, the string of game at her feet. Voices from beyond the trees were what finally brought the young woman from her thoughts. Still, she clutched the broach in her hands, the last semblance of her family that she had, before tucking it away once more. Acacia replaced the quiver over her shoulder, and grabbed for both her longbow and the string of game. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there, but the sun was still high. Certainly not long enough time for her to be missed. 

From the treeline she emerged. “Acacia my dear, what a sight for tired eyes!” Byram called out to her as she passed through. He was a short and stocky man who was always a bit too jolly for Acacia’s liking, but kind nonetheless. 

“Aye, thought we were due for a proper supper.” she said plopping the game down on the table near where a few of the women had begun cooking. A few moments later she produced a small bushel of wild onions from the pouch at her hip. 

“Thought you could cook up something good with these Faya.” she said. Faya was young girl with yellow hair and ruddy cheeks. She was quiet and timid; Acacia had taken a liking to her though. The girl smiled softly and nodded excitedly. Faya loved cooking, but ingredients were sparse, and they had to make do with what they happened upon and what was easy to farm. The girl once told her what she loved most about preparing a meal was the contentment that came after. She liked making people happy with her food, and where she lacked in way of words she connected with people through their bellies. 

“Thank you so much.” her voice was as quiet as a mouse. Acacia only nodded as she slumped down onto a nearby stump and reached for her waterskin, taking a few swigs of water. At the empty seat to her side she could see Ray join her, but she didn’t say anything because she already knew he would break the silence. She felt his eyes on her first, and the longer they lingered the antsier she became. Ray was a talker—and boundaries seemed unbeknownst to him. While Acacia knew he meant well she dreaded these talks with him. He always knew the exact words to say to make her feel small and fill her heart with regret for the things she had done. 

“Have you checked on him today?” he finally asked.

“Of course, this morn before I left.” Acacia answered. For whatever reason Ray seemed fixated on making sure she be the one to nurse the injured man back to health. Maybe it was to make her feel bad for urging Ray to let her kill him out of pity. To make her regret insisting he wouldn’t make it through the night, and claiming they’d been doing him a favor. Or maybe it was to make her realize she could save lives instead of taking them, either way it urged thoughts most unwelcome into her head, along with feelings that bubbled to the surface that she would much rather ignore. Now that the hound had defeated all odds, and come back from the brink of death, Ray was insistent that she be the one to care for him. Acacia was a lot of things, but never a caretaker, and she wasn’t quite sure the role suited her. 

“He’s getting stronger with every day that passes.” Ray said a smile gracing his aged face, and Acacia felt shame when he spoke of the man’s miraculous recovery. From which it stemmed she wasn’t certain. Maybe it was because she had been wrong, or maybe because someone had seen just how merciless she could be, even if in her mind she would have been giving him mercy. 

“It does seem so—I’ve never seen a man come back from the brink of death like that. Seen men die from so much as a festered cut.” Acacia was looking at the older man now as she spoke, guilt weighing heavy, 

“Aye, I have.” he said pulling a long drink from his water skin. “God’s aren’t done with him yet.” 

A long silence settled between them, and Acacia’s gaze fell to the grass. “I hope you’re right.” Truly, she hoped he’d bring no ill to them, but who was to say what would come once he was fully healed.

“I turned over a new leaf, just as you did. We aren’t here to judge, only to heal.”  
\--------  
Acacia ducked to enter the tent with a bowl full of stew in one hand still piping hot, and a sizable hunk of bread in the other. Eyes glanced over the bedridden man briefly surprised to see him awake. Since being here he mostly slept, not that she could blame him his body was healing from incredible damage. Acacia sat cross-legged beside his cot, gaze studying him closely as he moved. A groan escaped him as he scooted along the cot to sit, but however quiet it was, it didn’t go unnoticed by her. 

“Try not to move too much.” Acacia advised, but he only grunted. 

“Surprise seeing you awake.” She admitted. The man didn’t speak, but shifted uncomfortably. Usually he wasn’t awake during her ministrations, and even when he was they rarely spoke. Fever had had him delirious, and when he came to he’d always been overwhelmed with exhaustion. And so they never spoke, but like clockwork she came in, cleaned his wounds and checked the state of his healing. 

“Come to poke at me again,” his voice was rough, like a sword on a whetsone. 

“That time of day again I’m afraid, I look forward to it as much as you do.” 

“That best not be that abomination from yesterday.” He said inclining his head towards the bowl she held, but he reached out to it all the same. 

“This should be more to your liking—hope you like game.” The way he scarfed it down was as good enough answer as any. 

“Aye… it’s better than the other shit that’s been offered.”

“You’re a lucky man.” she mused, unsure of what else to say, but eager to fill the silence. 

“Lucky?” he snorted “How fucking lucky is it that I survived? I should have died. You all should have let me die.” he grumbled. Acacia bristled a bit but said nothing. “I bet it wasn’t your choice to keep me alive either. It was the man with the necklace, wasn’t it?” 

For some time she contemplated him unsure of whether or not to reply truthfully. With her free hand Acacia retrieved the knife strapped to her calf and drew it to the bread in her hand. It was a small hardened loaf and she sawed away at it as she spoke.

“No, if it’d been my choice I’d have given you the gift of mercy.” she said simply “You’ve septon Ray to thank for your life.” He made pause, eyes boring into her uncomfortably. “Didn’t think you’d make it through the night—I was sure you wouldn’t. Told the septon the kindest thing we could do for you would be to put you out of your misery.” She handed him half of the loaf which he eagerly accepted and dunked in the stew to soak up flavorful broth. It was hard to believe this was the same man they’d hauled back to the village on a cart out of his sorts.

“Don’t let others to cloud your judgement,” he said suddenly, and her gaze snapped from the basin to him. 

“The next one, you do what your gut says, Acacia Rivers.”

“No time to wallow about in self-pity, you’re alive yeah? Don’t make me regret spending all this time nursing you.” she said pointedly. Acacia didn’t like the feeling’s that his words welled up within her… she was supposed to be done with killing. 

“At the very least, let me eat before you go rummaging about and aggravating whatever you're going to aggravate.” he grumbled as he sopped his bread into the broth. 

Acacia leaned back against the thick wooden tent post, allowing herself to get comfortable, but her hackles were still raised. “My names Acacia Rivers..” She finally settled on saying, a lie, one that had become her life. He glared at her, and she raised a brow. “I already know who you are.” she said in an amused sort of way as she retrieved a skin from her side. One that contained contents a little stouter than water. The brew had a strong taste that stuck to her tongue and burned its way down her throat leaving heat in her belly.

“Take it, “she held it out to him still reeling from the taste.

“I know you must still be in pain, I’ve nothing more to help, but milk of the poppy’s hard to come by in these parts. Hopefully some wine might take some edge off.” Acacia hesitated a moment before extending her arm fully.

“Just don’t mention it to septon Ray, it’s from my secret stash” 

“Fuck the poppy.” he barked, she couldn’t help but smile at that, and he took the skin from her nonetheless. The hound eyed her for a moment before he began chugging away at the harsh booze, and she almost protested, almost. Ultimately she decided against it hoping it would give him some sort of sense of ease.

“Go on with it then.” 

And she did, carrying on with their usual routine. 

She’d slid the light cloak from her shoulders and began rolling up the sleeves of her tunic as she made way to the opposite side of his cot. Of all his injuries his leg had been the worst. Septon Ray had done his best to set it, but it’d been broken clean in two. It made her cringe when she thought back to them shoving the jagged bone beneath flesh and the sickening crunch it made when he haphazardly forced the pieces of bone back together. Both were silent during the ministrations aside from him flinching occasionally. These hands of hers weren’t yet accustomed to healing, quite the opposite, but she did her best not to cause him any further pain.

“You can be a real mean thing, you know? When you’re out of your sorts thrashing about. Knocked me flat on my ass when I burnt that wound on your shoulder.” A crooked smile now tweaked at her lips as she spoke.

“Hadn’t taken a hit like that in a while.” she admitted. Truthfully she would hate to see what kind of devastation the man could do at full strength after he’d knocked the wind out of her on his deathbed. 

“The bones healing nicely.” she said absentmindedly as her slim fingers brushed over the skin of his lower thigh. Fortunately for him, the wound had stopped leaking pus, and no longer smelled of rot; raw flesh was no longer open to infection. 

“It’d probably do you some good to give it a go at walking on it… there’s a stream no more than a stone’s throw from here. Maybe you’d like to wash up?” she was rinsing her hands now as she spoke. Over her shoulder she eyed his greasy hair and dirty face. Might make him a tad more pleasant as well. Acacia urged him up ignored his reluctancy. 

“Gods be damned,” he hissed batting batted at her and stumbling until he caught himself on the pole that held the tent above him. “ Give me something to cover up. If you don’t want me to startle the people, let me at the very least, cover my cock.”

Acacia chuckled a bit. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” she said as she moved to toss his a garment to cover himself with. Hastily he’d pulled the roughspun breeches on before he spoke again. 

“How long?” he asked her. 

Acacia counted on her fingers. “Two, three fortnights? ”she said as she returned to his side. “No matter that— What I really want to know is what the bloody hound is doing this far from king’s landing.” Absentmindedly a hand moved to the hilt of the dagger strapped at her waist, just in case gaze not wavering from him. Sandor glowered down at her as they moved along. 

“Serve a cunt like that till the end of my days?” he barked, hand tightening at her side. It made Acacia stiffen. “Long live Joffrey.” he added in a mocking sort of way as he halted a pinched look on his face. “Get going.” he mumbled, and she did. 

“I suppose that’s something we can agree on… fuck the Lannisters.” she said voice cold, and she squirmed beneath his firm grip unconsciously. 

“Septon Ray wants to give you a new lease on life, but I’m not so keen on trusting you..” Acacia knew her threats would be empty to him, maybe it was better that way if he thought her to be but a harmless bastard girl from the Riverland’s. “The people here are weak, never fought a day in their life, you know it as well as I. You’re still at my mercy, don’t give me a reason to think you’d harm them.” There was an implacable tone in her voice as she spoke. Sure she’d turned over a new leaf so to speak by making the decision to stay here, and maybe she’d promised Ray no more killing for coin, but she wouldn’t have any qualms killing a man she thought might bring harm to the innocents that reside here. Killing him would be justified. 

He’d said nothing more as they made their way to the creek, and that in itself had unnerved her. Still, he’d stripped down and eased into the waters, and Acacia did her best to give him privy and not eye his every move. 

 

“Why are you here?” Until then her back had been turned to him. “You told me he wants me to have a new lease on life… is that why all the weak peasants follow him? Some token of hope those bastards need… Why?” 

Acacia stilled as she looked over her shoulder at him. “We’re not unalike you and I.”


End file.
